Page 4 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

She huffs and points a finger at my tail. “Control that weapon of mass destruction or I will tie it up in such a giant knot, it’ll take a team of specialized engineers a week to untie it.”

My tail doesn’t listen. Instead, it pops out and coils around her ankle, the spade-tip resting against her skin. Every nerve inside me erupts. A heavy ache surges in my groin, threatening to break through the leather of my loincloth.

She glances down at the tail, then looks at me, her expression incredulous. “Really?”

I manage to eject my tail, bringing it back to my body and using every spare muscle to keep it pinned against my spine. “My deepest apologies.”

“Good,” she croons, the sound vibrating through me like a physical touch. “Now be quiet. Quiet as a grave.”

I furrow my brow. “We don’t have graves in Hell.”

She clenches her hands into fists, her spine stiffening, but she picks up the pace again. We navigate around more small, colorful objects scattered across the floor.

She leads me to a small alcove where four doors wait like portals. One straight ahead is open. One to the right is closed tight. To my left, a door reveals a porcelain white throne, small, with a bottomless hole and a curtain adorned with a smiling orange fish. And another door to the left, in the corner, sits barely ajar.

Vesper turns on a heel, her face becoming deadly serious. She points to the closed door on the right, from which a soft, rhythmic snuffling noise echoes. Perhaps some sort of small, sleeping dragon pet.

“Never ever open that door,” she whispers, the intensity of her gaze more frightening than an Archangel’s sword. “That’s the number one house rule. Understand?”

I nod solemnly. “I understand and agree to your command, pretty beastie.”

“Hmm…” she hums, sizing me up as if I’m a particularly troublesome familiar. “Good boy.”

Why did my cock just jerk again? Why did my eye twitch? And the muscle tick in my jaw?

She leads me forward, breathing visible relief as she enters the final room and closes the door behind us.

I inhale, and the scent hits me like a physical blow. Her bedroom. It is saturated with her—a raw, concentrated femininity strong enough to drive a lesser demon to his knees. I stagger, my shoulder gently knocking into her. She arches a brow in obvious puzzlement, but she shrugs it off as she moves toward the bed.

I marvel at it. We have beds in the Pit, of course, but they are formed of rusted nails or jagged metal spikes to ensure no one ever truly rests. Hers…it reminds me of the plush floor couches in Lucifer’s private chambers, but covered in a soft floral design instead of silk and jewels.

I take in the different sights—the wall mirror reflecting my own bewildered face, the strange, flat black rectangle on the wall, polished like a gem. But then, she moves toward another door, just to the left of the bed. It looks similar to the one in the hallway, and I quirk a smile when I recognize the bath within.

Not that I’ve ever had the pleasure of one. Washing is a luxury reserved for the Morning Star and the higher-tier nobility.

Vesper turns and nods to me. “You stay out here. I need a shower. Don’t touch my stuff.”

Then she closes the door, and the sound of a roaring waterfall erupts from beyond it.

I loosen my tail, the tip curling as I wander the room, curious. As I approach a closed door in the corner, a strange and heavenly scent—sharp, floral, and deeply intimate—propels me to open it.

The scent grows stronger. My staff throbs, a rhythmic pulse I still don’t fully understand. The small room seems to hold only clothing, hanging in dense, colorful rows. But then, I notice a box on the top shelf.

A sudden rush of mischief overcomes me. She said not to touch her things, but…she never said anything about stealing them. And I am, after all, a Prince of Thieves.

I use a flick of my power to lift the box lid. A blast of her scent hits me, the concentrated floral and musk so intense, it knocks me back into the mass of hanging dresses. I freeze, utterly gobsmacked.

Inside the box are objects I recognize. Fear shoots through me, but also the throes of an uncontrollable heat. They look like the torture implements used in the Fifth Circle, but instead of spikes and metal that burns, these are made of smooth, colorful silicone.

I coil my tail around one, suspiciously turning it over. It’s shaped like a small violet egg. With a thought, I trigger the mechanism.

Bzzzzzzzzzz. It releases a humming sound like a swarm of angry bees, vibrating intensely.

“Extraordinary,” I murmur.

But the scent all around the item is what truly bewitches me. It is her—the raw femininity laced with a florid seduction. It is the scent of her desire, her privacy, her self.

My ears prick. The waterfall has stopped.